Chapter 65 Chapter 65
Mr. Bushman, still shaking, still barely able to stand after collapsing earlier, finally found his voice.
“What the hell is going on?” he asked, his tone desperate, pleading. “It hasn't come to this yet. Divorce? Why divorce?”
He stepped forward slightly, his hands raised as though trying to calm the situation.
“Surely we can talk about this. Surely we can—”
But General Zachariah cut him off with a look so sharp it could have drawn blood.
“If not for the fact that I do not want to assault you,” he said slowly, dangerously, “if not for the fact that I do not want to strangle you where you stand, I would slap the living hell out of your face right now.”
Mr. Bushman froze.
General Zachariah took a step toward him.
“Now get out of my sight,” he said. “Immediately.”
His voice dropped even lower, but the fury in it was unmistakable.
“And whatever you want to ask for—whatever contracts you were hoping to secure, whatever deals you thought you could negotiate, whatever favors you thought you could call in—I am the wrong person to speak to about it.”
He leaned in slightly, his eyes boring into Mr. Bushman's.
“It is never going to be possible. Do you understand me? Never.”
Then he straightened again and waved his hand dismissively.
“Now leave my presence immediately and go resolve your mess by yourself. Do not drag anyone else into your chaos.”
At that moment, the silence that followed General Zachariah's words was not the comfortable kind.
It was the kind of silence that pressed down on people.
The kind that made the air feel thicker, heavier, harder to breathe.
Jessica stood exactly where she was, her mouth slightly open, her eyes darting between General Zachariah and the space where Megan had just been standing.
She could not believe what she was hearing.
She could not believe what she was seeing, none of them could, because this was not how it was supposed to go, General Zachariah was supposed to arrive and fix things.
He was supposed to be the authority that put Megan in her place, that silenced whatever influence she had brought into the room, that restored the Bushman family to the position of power they had walked in with.
Instead, he had slapped Vincent.
He had floored Tasha, he had knelt before Megan.
And now he was standing with his back turned to them as though they were strangers he had never met—as though the family connection that Tasha had leveraged to get him here meant absolutely nothing anymore.
Why? That was the question burning through all of them simultaneously.
Why would he disassociate himself so quickly and so completely?
Why would he urge Tasha, his own niece, to walk away from her marriage?
What did Megan have over him?
What did Megan have over any of them?
Who was she? Nobody dared voice the questions aloud.
Not yet, because the atmosphere General Zachariah had left behind still carried his energy sharp and unforgiving and nobody wanted to be the next person to attract his attention.
But Vincent could not stay still.
He had never been the kind of man who could absorb a blow quietly and wait for the storm to pass.
He needed to act.
He needed to feel like he still had some grip on something.
And so he moved.
He crossed the space between himself and Tasha quickly, dropping down beside her where she was still slumped on the ground, still recovering from the devastating slap her uncle had delivered.
He reached out and touched her arm.
“Tasha,” he said, his voice urgent and low.
She turned her head slightly toward him, her eyes glassy, her expression unreadable.
“Please,” he said. “Don't do this.”
He shifted closer, his voice dropping even further as though lowering it would make his words more persuasive.
“You know my potential. You know what I'm capable of. You've always known.”
He searched her face desperately for something softness, agreement, the familiar loyalty she had always shown him.
“This is just an obstacle,” he continued.
“That's all this is. It's going to pass. These things always pass.”
He shook his head with forced certainty.
“I'm very sure about that.”
Then his tone shifted slightly, taking on an edge of wounded pride.
“You want to let that good-for-nothing ex of mine laugh at us?” he said bitterly. “You want to give her the satisfaction? Because she will laugh, Tasha. The moment she hears that you filed for divorce, she will laugh at me.”
He said it as though that possibility Megan's laughter—was somehow the greatest tragedy in all of this.
“Is that what you want? Is that what you're willing to give her?”
He gripped her arm a little tighter.
“Please. You can't do this. Not now. Not at this stage of my life.”
His voice cracked slightly, whether from genuine emotion or performance, it was difficult to tell.
“I need you. I really need you. I need you with me through all of this.”
Tasha lay there and listened.
Her face, swollen and streaked with blood, gave nothing away immediately.
She did not answer him right away.
She did not agree, she did not comfort him.
She simply lay there for a long moment, and then, very quietly, she turned her head slightly away.
When she finally spoke, it was barely above a whisper.
Two words at first.
Just two.
“Vincent,” She said softly, and paused.
He leaned in closer.
Then she continued, her voice barely audible, strained with pain and something that sounded uncomfortably like resignation.
“Ever since I was born,” she said quietly, “ever since I have known General Zachariah, I have never—not once seen him this angry.”
She paused again, swallowing carefully.
“Not like this.”
Vincent stared at her.
“I have never seen him this serious before,” she continued. “Whatever he says, my father will not go against it. My father has never gone against his words. Not once in my entire life.”
Her eyes moved slowly to Vincent's face.
“And from the look of what just happened here today,” she whispered,
“it seems like you people must have offended someone. Someone with serious power.”
She let that sit for a moment.
“I don't fully understand it yet,” she admitted. “But I know what I saw. And I know what my uncle's face looked like when he heard that name.”
She exhaled slowly, painfully.
“I've never seen him look like that before.”
Vincent felt the ground shifting beneath him.
He felt the certainty he had been clinging to begin to loosen.
His jaw tightened.
His eyes searched hers frantically.
And then, unable to stop himself, unable to hold back the disbelief rising in his throat, he said,
“Don't tell me you actually want to go get a divorce.”